


to be there

by cinnabun



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabun/pseuds/cinnabun
Summary: Asgore knows he shouldn't choose work over you, especially when you're in this state, but he does anyway. And he pays for it.{ 3k One-Shot Commission: Asgore/Reader }





	to be there

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piixiecv](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=piixiecv).



* * *

 

 There are times when Asgore feels as if the entire world is against him.

Of course, he should know better. Though he’s been dealt his fair share of tragedy, he’s been given chance after chance to redeem himself. To prove that he’s more than his sordid past, and that there is still hope for him yet.

Yet, as your condition continues to worsen, he can’t help but feel as if he’s brought this upon himself.

And it’s a selfish thought, to blame your illness on his history. But…

“Asgore, I…I’m fine.” You lie to him through your teeth for the third time that day.

It irks him, certainly, but he knows you’re doing it for his benefit. If you can pretend that things will be fine, maybe he can too.

“Are you certain?” He pries gently, taking your hands in his. You’ve gotten so pale that your skin almost blends in with his fur. In his oversized palms, your tiny fingers shake and tremble.

But you offer him another smile and lie again. “Yes, Asgore, I’m certain.”

Your breakfast tray sits on the bedside table, hardly touched. The only thing you’ve taken more than a bite of is the half-empty glass of water and empty tablet holder where your medicine had been.

There’s so much he wants to say. He wants to ask you to try to eat a little more. To tell him the truth about how you feel, so he knows how to help. But before the words can even grace his tongue, his phone rings. Again.

Annoyance flickers across both your faces, but you’re quick to cover it with an expression that asks, ‘What can you do?’

Asgore knows for a fact that there are several things he can do. Not answering is one of them. But you wave him away, and he knows that it’s never as simple as not picking up, especially for a king (or previous king).

Standing outside your room, beyond the closed door, he tries to hide the bite in his voice as he lifts the receiver to his ear. “Howdy! This is Asgore.”

“H-Hello your majesty!” It’s Alphys, speaking in quick, trembling sentences. She always sounds so scared of saying the wrong thing. He wants to tell her that it’s all okay, but he can never find the words to do so. “I’m just calling about the…the, um, meeting we have scheduled with D.T. Corp?”

His sigh whistles through his nose. The scientist is quick to catch on. “U-Unless you’re busy, of course! We can always…reschedule…”

No, they can’t. “No, it’s fine. Thank you for calling, Doctor Alphys, I’ll be there.”

“O-Okay!” He can hear the obvious relief in her voice. “How, um…how are they doing, by the way?”

“Is it that obvious?” Asgore almost laughs.

“Um, no!” Alphys says it too quickly. “I mean, it’s been a bit since I’ve seen them, and the last time I checked up on them they weren’t too well. B-But I’m sure they must have gotten at least a bit better—!”

“They’re worse.”

“O-Oh.” He can hear the way she deflates, her tone going from excited and positive to soft and forlorn. “I’m sorry to hear that. Have they b-been taking the medicine I prescribed to them?”

“Every day,” Asgore breathes. “I do appreciate you being able to come out on such short notice. I’m sure they do as well.”

“Oh, w-well, um.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I-It’s no problem! Really!! I know this is probably hard on you both since you have so many responsibilities, and I’d like to offer more help if I could, b-but I haven’t had as much time to work on anything helpful as of…of late.”

“Don’t overwork yourself, Doctor Alphys.” He tries to reassure her. “You’ve done enough for us already.”

“I—I…” Alphys stumbles blindly. Her voice drops to a soft, helpless tone. “I wish there was more I could do.”

“I wish the same.” There’s a kind of relieving solidarity, hearing the words he wants to say coming from someone else. It makes him feel less alone in the thick of things. “Again, thank you for calling. Please notify our representatives that I’ll be available to make it for the meeting.”

“O-Of course!” She begins. A pause sinks in, it’s obvious that she wants to say something else, but she can’t find the words. So instead, she cuts herself short. “I-I’ll see you there, sir! Majesty! Uh…bye!”

It cuts to a dial tone before he can return the farewell. With his back against the wall, just outside the doorway to your room, he takes a deep, shuddering breath. Is he really so scared to ask for help? Is he really so ready to take all the blame for himself, again? Can he find it in himself to do so? He’s not sure.

“Hey.” Your voice is so soft, yet it still makes him jump. You stand in the doorway, a blanket draped over your shoulders. You’re swaying, using the doorframe to keep from falling over. He can see the dizziness hanging over your head like a cloud. “Was that Alphys? How is she?”

“She’s fine. In fact, she told me that she was more worried about you.” He finds the strength to smile at the sour look that crosses your face.

“Ugh, I told her I’m fine! I’m just going through a bug or something. It won’t last that long.” You speak in a tone that’s obviously self-directed. Like you’re trying to convince not just him, but yourself.

Asgore finds that he doesn’t blame you.

“Let’s hope so.” His smile grows as you cast one up towards him. The bags beneath your eyes are so dark. He can only imagine what he must look like in your eyes, worried sick over your sickness. “You should get back in bed.”

You shake your head. “You said we could go out to the garden today.”

A painful sting hits him right in the chest. “Er, well…”

It only worsens as your face falls. “Let me guess, something came up?”

God, does he feel guilty. He wants to tell you that, no, his day is free. That you can go and spend the whole day in the garden if you like. It’s what he wants to say, but. The truth is not so simple.

“Yes,” He sighs. Your brows knit together in frustration, eyes fluttering closed. You take a deep breath, and when you look up at him again, you’re smiling. He can see the tears building on your lashes.

“That’s okay, I know you’re busy.” Now it’s your turn to reach out, taking one of his larger hands between your oh-so tiny ones. You’re so pale, the blue of your veins like painted streaks, thrumming beneath paper-thin skin. Asgore swallows around the painful lump in his throat.

He promises you that the meeting won’t take long, and he means it. You tell him to take his time, but he can’t keep the thoughts of you off his mind.

Not while he’s in the conference room. Not while discussing the advancements they’ve made. Not while talking about budgets and magic and all other sorts of things that feel so frivolous in the face of stress.

It’s obvious that Alphys can sense his tension, because she does her best to keep as much attention off of him as she can. Again, he reminds himself to thank her for the gesture of kindness. Her ethic and passion for her work is immense, but her compassion for others is greater.

After what feels like an eternity, the meeting ends, and Asgore rushes back to you with only the barest of formalities tossed back to his companions. It’s rude, certainly, and he has better manners than that, but he cannot chase the itching sensation away. He is so scared that something is wrong, and he can’t place why.

But then he arrives to see the ambulance, the crowd, and the officers, and he understands.

You’re wheeled away on a stretcher, breaths harsh and deep and eyes clamped shut so tight that he can see the sweat building on your forehead. He takes all of a step in your direction when an officer stops him.

“What has happened?” He asks in the least broken tone he can muster.

“We can’t release any information to the public right now, but we can say that there’s been an incident—”

“I am responsible for their medical care.” Asgore can feel his teeth grinding against one another. He lets out a snuff of grey smoke, the tendrils curling around his tense frame like steam.

The officer’s voice breaks slightly. “A-Are you their caretaker?”

“Yes.” He reiterates again, trying not to show his annoyance. “This is my home, they are my partner. Please tell me…what has happened?”

“I…” The cop begins. His expression goes a degree softer. “We got a call from a neighbor. Turns out they tried going down the stairs on their own, probably tripped on something, and hit the first floor so hard that it managed to knock some of the pictures on the wall over. The neighbor heard the sound and call us in.”

“Oh god.” Asgore can feel his hands shaking. “Are…are they okay?”

“They will be.” The officer shrugs half-heartedly. Anger bubbles inside Asgore’s chest. He wants to take the man by the shoulders and shake him, demanding more respect for the accident that has transpired. But even he knows that sometimes the only way you can protect yourself is by pretending you don’t care. “We’re sending them on route to the emergency ward right now. You’re gonna wanna talk to someone at the hospital for more info.”

Like that, the cop turned on his heel and made his way back towards his cruiser.

Asgore felt something heavy in his drop into his stomach. All at once, the world began to spin. Oh god, he shouldn’t have left you alone. He should have told Doctor Alphys to reschedule, to have stayed with you, and made sure you were okay. If he was here, you wouldn’t have tried to go out without him. You wouldn’t have fallen. Things would be okay.

But he’d failed you, in the same way that he’d failed so many others. His title, his burden, had once again cost him something precious. How were you doing right now? How did you feel, lying on the floor, waiting for someone to come help you? How scared were you, when the nurses burst through the door and rushed to your broken frame?

Did you call out for him? Did you have the energy to reach out for him?

 

* * *

 

 He follows the officer’s instructions. Takes the time to gather whatever medical records he can. He takes your medicine, your favorite book, and a small container of cold tea.

They stop him at the front desk.

“Sir, you can’t walk into the emergency ward without filling out the paperwork. We need permission from the injured to permit your entrance—”

Asgore feels himself deflate, for just a moment. Then, things change. A switch flips.

He stands to his full height. Stones his expression. Folds his hands together politely, and towers over the desk workers like the behemoth that he is.

“My name is Asgore Dreemurr,” He says in an ice-cold tone, “And I am here to see my partner.”

Ten minutes later, he is finished filling out the paperwork. God, he has always hated paperwork. But the receptionist hands him a wristband as he shuffles over the stack of papers and points him down the hallway.

He is there in a matter of minutes, pacing outside the doorway. There’s someone inside, as he can hear, and he’s too nervous to bust in. All the bravado of his previous display is gone in an instant, replaced with a dreadful guilt that gnaws at him from the inside out.

Just when he feels his patience growing rather thin, the doctor enters the hallway.

“Oh!” The man looks surprised, and Asgore can’t blame him. He is rather massive. Even in the wide hospital hallway, his horns still manage to touch the ceiling. “You must be…Asgore Dreemurr?”

While he speaks he flips through a packet of meticulously organized paperwork. Just looking at it reminds Asgore that he’d left you alone to deal with such duties. It makes his stomach hurt.

“Yes,” He finally answers, in a low tone.

The one-word answer seems to be all the confirmation the doctor needs, as he nods vigorously and waves down an empty corridor. “Please, follow me. There’s something we must discus and it would do better in a private environment, I would think.”

His accent is heavy, but Asgore can still make out the bulk of what he’s saying. So, with little more than a returned nod of acknowledgement, he follows the doctor down the hall, around a corner, and into a small office. There are many pictures on the wall of who he guesses is the doctor’s family members. A photo next to his computer portrays a young woman with beautiful long black hair, with her arms slung around a much younger looking version of the doctor’s shoulders.

Asgore feels that much worse looking at it.

“Thanks for coming,” The doctor begins, “I’m Doctor Pavarti.”

He chuckles at the empty gaze Asgore gives him. “I know it’s a feminine name, but it was passed down among my family and I haven’t had the heart to go about changing it.”

“Ah,” is all the monster can manage.

Parvati mimics the sound briefly, clearing his throat and reaching for the mouse of his computer. He clicks around for a moment, pulling up some photos. They’re X-Rays, detailing a map of little white dots hanging suspended in what looked to be some kind of ribcage.

“We ran an X-Ray of your partner,” He begins, one finger curled under his chin as he speaks. “And—do you see these?”

He pointed at the large white obstructions. “These are cysts. Usually when we catch them early they’re still in the benign stage, but these have advanced into the cancerous stage.”

“C-Cancer?” Asgore stumbled, the word hitting him like a solid punch to the gut.

“Yes, but don’t panic.” Parvati held a finger up dramatically. “Since we’ve managed to catch them at so small a stage, there is still a chance to remove them before they extend into their organs and bloodstream. All we’ll need is your consent to perform the surgery—”

It’s all happening so fast, but the words come flying from his lips anyway. “Yes. Of course, whatever needs to be done, please do it.”

The doctor smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite meet his tired eyes. “There is always a risk to these procedures—if anything goes wrong, it’d be best that you understand now rather than later that it’s possible for these things to occur.”

God, the idea of losing you is so frightening. Like he’s being crushed by the overwhelming pressure. But he folds his hands in his lap, steels his nerves, and gives the doctor a final nod.

Parvati’s smile widened. “Perfect! We’ll be spending the next few hours prepping them for the procedure. You’ll have to stay in the waiting room to finish filling out the paperwork.”

The words go in one ear and come right out the other. Like he’s in a haze, Asgore follows the doctor back out to the sitting room. It’s filled with people. Some are sick, some are injured. But all he can think about is you, sitting in a cold, tiny bed, with tubes and wires sticking out of your pale skin. The doctor, reaching towards you with a knife, to press it to—

Asgore buries his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to think of that. To imagine you, blood-streaked and exposed to the elements. He’s had enough death in his life, he can’t handle the thought of losing you after everything you’ve been through together.

Time passes at a crawl. People filter in and out of the room in a steady wave. Sometimes someone is rushed into the emergency care, and Asgore wonders how quickly they’ll be able to get out.

Finally, his nerves chew to his core, and he stands, pacing back and forth across the width of the room. He notices a woman draw her baby closer to her chest as he passes by, and he offers her a friendly wave in return. It feels forced. Everything does.

Hours have passed. It’s late now, Asgore can feel it in his blood, even if he can’t see a clock around. But just when the painful echo of exhaustion begins to gnaw at his consciousness, a nurse strides into the room and calls out his name. “Asgore Dreemurr?”

He jumps to his feet, nearly knocking over the chair he was sitting in. “Y-Yes! I mean, howdy! How can I help you?”

She offers him the same tight smile the doctor had worn. “We’ve transferred your partner to the recovery ward, they should be awake shortly. We feel it’d be best for you to be the first face they see.”

There’s no need for him to be told twice or asked once. Asgore’s large strides take up double what the nurse can walk, so she has to jog to keep up with him. The entire time, she’s talking about how the procedure went, what you can do, how long it’ll take to recover. But Asgore isn’t listening.

His eyes are locked on the flickering light exuding from the doorway. Your soul is screaming out for him, and he can feel his own trying to leap out of his chest to get to you.

Then he gets to the doorway and slows. You look so ghostly against those pale sheets.

But you’re looking at him, with tired, heavy eyes.

“Hi,” you say in a small voice, smiling weakly.

And even though he’s crying, Asgore smiles back. “Howdy!”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from my blog, "underimagines" commissioned by one of my fellow Mods themself! I love writing for Asgore, he's so great. And getting to play with angst is the best too. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Until next time,  
> \- cinnabun


End file.
